“It’ll be fun,” they said.

Grow up and become an adult, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.

False. Where’s my blankey?
I’ll be in my fort.
Coloring.

Let’s talk about all those things “expert” adults never told us.
No one told me I would never again write in cursive apart from signing my
name. Nor did anyone say signing my name would become such a big deal… And I certainly wasn’t prepared for how many times I would sign it to purchase a home.
Actually, I’m not sure why it was so important for me to buy a house. It was like this giant
check off my “becoming an adult bucket list.” It’s not just me; when my parents decided to get married, my mom lived in a condo and my dad in an apartment. My mom insisted upon purchasing a house, because her perception of adulthood and marriage included a house. She just assumed that’s what people do. She didn’t realize some people live in an apartment for years and are perfectly functioning adults. No one said becoming a successful adult doesn’t mean becoming the stereotypical adult.

No one mentioned how utterly USELESS everything I learned in math class
would be. I can tell you the Pythagorean Theorem, but I can’t fucking balance a
checkbook. I think we really need to reevaluate our curriculum.

No one told me there wasn’t a magical “Pantry Fairy” that comes and fills your
cupboards with snackies every week.

There is no similar fairy for cleaning.

No one said that your house gets dirty even when there’s no one home.
I thought I was just going to mystically “like” doing laundry as soon as I entered
adulthood.

Nope. Still hate it.

AND SOMEBODY TELL ME HOW TO FOLD THE FUCKING FITTED BED SHEET!!
I finally gave up and started shoving all the sheets inside the corresponding pillowcase.

I’ve been under the impression that knowing how to perfectly wrap presents
was just an adult thing. Now I’m convinced it must just be a parent thing.

No one explained how much making plans would change. As an adult, the idea
of plans is so much better than executing the plan the day of.

“Yeah, dude, we should totally hit the club on Friday!”
On Friday: “Dammit.”

Nobody mentioned I would be responsible for making my own doctor
appointments. Apparently, my mom no longer reminds me when I have a teeth
cleaning and subsequently does not drive me there.
Also, answering the doctor when he asks you about your medical history. #adulting.

They said there’d be bills…
But
there’s
so
many
bills.

No one told me the can of Sloppy Joe does not, in fact, include the meat.
Imagine my surprise when I dumped that can of just SAUCE in my frying pan.

No one told me my furnace would quit in my second week of home ownership.

Or my fridge three months later.

No one told me I would one day have no problem sitting at a public table and
eating alone.

In fact, I prefer it. Don’t sit next to me.

No one told me the world would start to take a dump and I would feel so
helpless in fixing it.
I was shocked to discover how expensive it is to shop healthy. It’s much cheaper
to live on pasta and pizza rolls, but my ass does not much appreciate it.

No one warned me I would be so much like my father.
No one said anything about everyone else not knowing what they’re doing,
either.
The thing is, the

deeper

I dive into this adulting experience, the more I realize everyone else is just winging it,
too, and doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing.

Even my parents didn’t know what
they were doing. They were still trying to figure it out when they had me! Two kids
rushed into the hospital to have their first child, only to break the water and it come
out green.
Yes, ladies and gents, I took a shit in the womb.
And suddenly the pleasant delivery experience turned into an emergency situation
resulting in a C-section.
I can appreciate that terror now that I’m an adult.
They had no idea what to expect.
But they made it work.
They winged it.

Like we all sort of wing it as life takes us through unexpected turns and onto bumpy
roads.
Life is messy.
Everyone is different.
And everyone figures it out at their own pace.

Maybe I’ll finally have my shit together by the time I’m thirty.

More posts about adulting

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